My Maura
by omon
Summary: Love her enough for the both of us. Love her even when she bothers you about doing your homework. Love her when she corrects your grammar and when she combs your hair.


**Has to do with difficult topics.**

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When I find her, she's in the same spot she always is.

Every time I wake up and the bed beside me is empty, I find her there.

In the same place.

Sometimes, in my sleepy daze, I forget,

and I get scared.

But I always find her.

And she is always safe.

Tonight, she is there once more.

The glow from the lamp in the room lights her up.

It casts her shadow on the walls.

This is a shadow I have grown to recognize.

A shadow I've grown to love.

She sits in the chair and doesn't move, her hands curled around the most precious thing she's ever come to know.

From my position by the door, I can see her eyes.

She is awake.

Alert.

Waiting.

She is waiting for me to find her,

like she always does.

She waits.

But it's not every night that I _can_ find her.

Sometimes, I am lost.

Stuck inside of a maze that I cannot seem to outrun.

Like I can see that notorious light at the end of that notorious tunnel, but I just can't reach it- reach her.

I don't know what she does on nights like that- the nights where I am not there.

I'm not even sure if I want to know.

But right now that does not matter.

Right now, what matters is that I am here.

And I am seeing her.

Her, in all her big eyed, freckly nosed glory.

I am seeing her.

And what I am seeing is good.

I push the door open and the creaking of the hinges makes her jump.

But she doesn't look up.

She just keeps looking down.

Into her arms.

"Maura," her name tumbles from my lips.

"Jane," my name tumbles from hers.

I move closer, kneel beside her, reach out my hand and touch her.

As my fingers connect with her cheek she shivers, and I see the goosebumps rising under my touch.

There is movement from that precious thing in her arms, and I look down at it.

At him.

At our son.

He is little and pink and blinking tiredly up at me.

"He has your green eyes." I tell her.

"He has your stubbornness." She responds.

I think I see a smile on her lips, but just as it's there, it's gone.

She yawns. Her eyes water.

"You need to sleep." I tell her.

She shakes her head.

"I can't stand to listen to him cry." She responds.

What she leaves out is that she also can't stand to be alone.

Can't stand sleeping in that bed.

That room.

For the first time tonight she looks at me.

Through me.

Into me.

Her eyes are big and darker than I remember them, but they're real.

They're hers.

And they're safely peering at me from behind tired lids.

Her mouth parts and her teeth come to rest on her bottom lip, pressing down hard.

Trying to hold herself back.

I reach out and my fingers touch her cheek once more.

She shivers.

A tear falls.

I watch her stand up and move towards the crib, tucking the now sleeping baby comfortably away for the rest of the night.

She moves so quick that she practically runs out the door,

down the hall,

into the bathroom.

I follow her.

She closes the door.

But it doesn't keep me out.

I watch her sink to the floor, crumble into herself.

This is the first time I've seen her cry since the day he was born.

Since 28 hours of labour.

Since the 28 seconds it took _him_ to cry.

Since she felt the pulse of that babies heart beating in tune with her own.

"I wish I could feel you," she whispers between her tears.

I kneel beside her.

Get close.

Put my hands through her hair.

Press my palm to her chest.

"I'm right here." I whisper back.

"Seven pounds." She says out loud. "He was seven pounds."

"I know, Maur." I try to lace my fingers through hers. "I was there."

A strangled, tortured sob bursts from the back of her throat, followed by another, and another.

Seven pounds.

Seven pounds of beautiful baby boy that brought tears so thick she could hardly see through them.

I was there.

But she didn't see me-_ couldn't _see me.

I stroked her hair and kissed her temple.

I laid my palm flat against hers and counted each one of her fingers.

I saw every moment, felt every fear.

But she couldn't see me.

I don't even know if she could feel me.

"It's been seven months, Jane."

Her words stab me.

Catch me off guard.

"Seven months since I've felt you."

I feel like I'm screaming but nothing is coming out; I am making no sound.

From behind me the bathroom door pushes open and my mother is standing there.

My mother.

My beautiful, perfect, angel of a mother who has moved into the guest room to help my Maura out.

To lend a hand.

To hold and comfort the people that I no longer can.

She rushes forward and collects my girl into her arms.

My Maura.

My love.

"It's okay, baby." she whispers into her hair.

She repeats it over and over.

Like a mantra.

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

Muffled sobs tear through Maura's body and she folds closer and closer into my mothers chest.

"I just want to feel her again." she chokes out. _"I just want to feel her."_

My mother doesn't speak.

She hardly even breathes.

All she does is let her own tears fall as she smooths Maura's hair.

Holds Maura close.

Kisses Maura's palms.

All these things that she did to soothe me when I was fearful as a child.

Fearful of monsters and boogymen.

And it scares me.

Scares me that these same monsters and boogymen have now taken form in my Maura's heart.

My Maura's mind.

I want more than anything in the world to take my mothers place.

Replace her soft hands atop Maura's hair with my own rough ones.

I want to be the one to check under the bed and hold her close.

But I can't.

All I can do is watch.

Suddenly I am back in the nursery.

And he is awake.

He peers up at me.

My baby.

My son.

His little eyes are so curious and interested.

They follow the patterns my fingers make in the air.

From his room, the house is quiet.

The house is at peace.

"I love you, little boy." I tell him. "My Maura loves you."

He blinks. Makes little baby noises. Smiles up at me.

"I love you, but I can't be here with you."

I feel my own tears burning the back of my throat, but I continue.

"So I need you to do something for me, okay?"

He gurgles.

I take it as an acceptance.

"I need you to watch out for her; for your mommy, okay? She's going to need you."

He reaches his little hands up to me, searching.

"She loves you, just like she loves me. But I can't be with her."

I place my finger within his fist and I watch him try to grasp it.

"So you have to protect her."

I wonder what I must feel like to him.

What I must look like.

I shake the thought and continue.

"You're going to have to make sure she remembers to turn the hose off properly after she finishes watering the garden, or it's going to rupture the pipes. And when it snows in the winter, you have to make sure she always throws salt on the front walkway or it'll freeze over."

A tear spills over.

I can no longer control it.

"She is your Maura now, and she needs you."

Slowly, his lips fall open and his breathing evens.

His eyes flutter shut as he falls asleep.

I watch his fingers open and close, making tiny little fists as he dreams.

"So the only thing you really need to remember, though, is to love her." I whisper to my sleeping baby boy.

"Love her enough for the both of us.

Love her even when she bothers you about doing your homework.

Love her when she corrects your grammar and when she combs your hair.

Cuddle with her on the days that it rains, because you're eventually going to find out that the lightening scares her.

Love her enough that she never has to feel lonely.

Love her so much that she forgets that I'm gone."

I lean down and kiss his forehead, and I breathe him in one last time before I must go.

Next I stand over the sleeping form of my Maura, and I watch her.

Put my arms around her.

Kiss her temple.

When she is asleep is the only time she really sees me.

Interprets me.

"I love you, my Maura." I say to her. "My beautiful girl."

Then something is pulling at me,

like a rope is tugging at my naval.

Pulling me backwards.

Away.

And then I am gone.

Leaving the family that I would do anything to go back to.

Leaving those seven pounds of baby boy that looks just like his mother.

His Maura.

My Maura.

_Our_ Maura.

And I am at peace.

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**This was hard to write and even harder to post.**  
**In a word, this story is personal.**  
**Please be kind.**

**O. **


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